


March Words 24: Nonchalant

by Siriusstuff



Series: March Words [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, Flash Fic, M/M, Some characters only mentioned, Strangers to Lovers, meet weird, other characters appear briefly - Freeform, please read top notes for trigger warnings, plot development what plot development, possible potential triggers described in top notes, trigger warnings are spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 08:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: Stiles's rescue from potential harm leads to a relationship.





	March Words 24: Nonchalant

**Author's Note:**

> For day 24 of the March Words prompt list: https://inkandblade.tumblr.com/post/171412546721/drabble-me-march
> 
> The word is "nonchalant."
> 
> T/W and spoiler alert: Someone attempts to drug Stiles's drink. This attempt fails. Stiles is not drugged.
> 
> The next most important tag here is "plot development what plot development." Just sayin'.

He looked like every young guy trying to appear cool and confident: completely uncool and insecure.

He fooled the eye of the drunk and horny maybe, but not a werewolf nose, not even from the other side of the bar. The addition of his semi-sweet aroma completely changed the club’s scent profile.

His shirt was deep blue, a tight fit, and his lightweight black leather jacket definitely not his usual style, most likely not actually his jacket at all.

He was good-looking, very much so, college aged, probably been on both sides of heartbreak by now, his sexual experiences without doubt more of the awkward kind than any other.

The most significant factor? He’d come in alone, looking for something that didn’t end in apologies or in never being able to look the other person in the eye again.

Whatever. He’d definitely come to the wrong place.

Derek wasn’t taking his eyes off him.

 

Danny hadn’t exaggerated when he’d told Stiles this club was a meat rack, but Stiles would add that the selection was mostly choice cuts—starting at the door, where a built, gorgeous dude checked his ID and let him in with a _kind of_ friendly, “Have fun.”

Stiles’s nervous glance around the bar, which was as far as he’d gone, revealed nothing but hotties, way out of Stiles’s league he was sure. But he hadn’t come there to find the love of his life or a Hollywood moment with an A-list beauty.

He just wanted at least one sexual encounter he could consider approximately as satisfying as an evening with his trusty hand.

 _Lupercal_ , the club, stood outside the Beacon County line, along the highway to bigger, brighter cities. Stiles, with Danny’s assistance, had hacked Sheriff Dept. police records and found only one naming it as the last known location in a missing persons report.

Danny assured Stiles the place was OK. Of course, Danny was six feet tall and nobody fucked with him other than literally. Stiles had asked— _not_ pleaded—that Danny accompany him to the club that night, but Danny got more action than anyone Stiles knew and had a date of his own that evening, banging his latest pretty boy, some dude name Ethan.

 

Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour had passed, and all Stiles had got were “hi’s” from people buying drinks and disappearing again.

Just about to venture across the floor to the club’s other side, Stiles heard, “Where ya goin’?” in a voice smooth and sexy, from a guy who’d been parked one stool away for a while.

“Thought I’d find out what’s happening over there in the dark.” Stiles said, thinking that had to be one of his best lines ever, despite its being merely a statement of fact.

“Nothing like what could happen here,” the guy replied.

Stiles decided it was not the time to rate pick-up lines. He was happy somebody was talking to him finally.

In the low light Stiles could tell it was an older dude, though not too much older. On the scale of looks in that place the guy came in at a solid seven, not _that_ far out of Stiles’s league, in bar lighting at any rate.

“What’re you drinkin’?”

At Stiles’s answer, the beer on tap, “That’s shit,” the guy said. “You should try a ‘lemon squeezer.’ In fact, let me order one for you.”

Things were moving fast, but that was Stiles’s preferred speed. He’d been a college student, always short on time. So this was fine.

The bartender placed two drinks in front of the guy, who put his hand over one of them and slid it to Stiles.

He’d barely put his mouth on the straw when a hand, another bartender’s hand, grabbed the drink, spilling not a drop as he removed it.

Meanwhile all Stiles could see was the guy beside him rising bodily off the stool.

“ _Out_ ,” some new guy was demanding—growling, to be honest. “Out right now,” were the last words Stiles heard as his would-be companion was removed as swiftly and completely as his drink had been.

“What the fuck!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Our apologies,” the second bartender said. “Derek will be right back to talk to you. Meanwhile, would you like another drink, on the house?”

Stiles couldn’t see the door from the bar, but that’s where the guy chatting him up and the dude who’d carried him away had headed.

Sure, he’d been cock-blocked before, never cock- _ejected_.

“Thanks, no,” Stiles answered, though the bartender remained where he stood, repeating, “Derek will be right back.”

When “Derek” returned he stood close to Stiles. He looked more agitated than Stiles, too.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” he started. “That person put something in your drink.”

Stiles was stunned at that information—but possibly not as stunned as he was by Derek’s looks. Derek was a twelve, even a fourteen, possibly even a _twenty_ , on a scale of ten.

Derek kept talking though Stiles gathered only a little, too preoccupied taking in Derek’s beauties, his perfect scruff of beard, his amazing eyebrows, his bunny-cute front teeth. Stiles maintained presence of mind enough not to let his eyes wander south of Derek’s face, for the time being, though he also had presence of mind enough to note Derek seemed to be having a hard time looking Stiles in those eyes.

So, _Lupercal_ was Derek’s uncle’s club and Derek had authority enough to offer Stiles whatever he wanted, drinks-wise, in compensation for the unfortunate event.

Stiles mustered up his courage and, brave little toaster that he was, asked for some of Derek’s company for a while, if he could have that.

 

Three weeks later there Stiles sat as Erica, fiancé of the built dude, Boyd, who worked the door at _Lupercal_ , pantomimed her way through another round of charades.

“ _Coyote Ugly!”_ Stiles shouted.

Everything Erica acted out suggested something sexy. Stiles had never realized how many movies, books and songs had sexy titles, though that might just be how Erica pantomimed them.

Isaac, the curly-haired bartender who’d snatched away Stiles’s drugged drink, won the round with “ _Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”_

Stiles didn’t mind.

Derek’s younger sister Cora and her girlfriend kept calling out only raunchy, ridiculous things and before much longer everyone would be too drunk and too exhausted from laughing to keep playing.

Stiles didn’t mind that either. He knew where he’d be sleeping.

Derek was snug at Stiles’s side, offering up his answers too quietly for anyone but Stiles to hear until Stiles lulled him into near unconsciousness with an arm round his shoulders and his fingers stroking Derek’s earlobe.

In his three weeks with Derek Stiles now had so many more pluses than minuses on his sexy times column he’d already stopped counting—this despite his habitual tendency to keep score and to scale things.

No matter what, he wouldn’t be forgetting he’d already checked off two items on his sex bucket-list, one of those items he’d only just added quite recently too: _fucking a werewolf_.

He’d accomplished so many things over the past few weeks he’d decided walking into _Lupercal_ alone had been the luckiest potential calamity of his life.

Derek’s revelation of his wolfy nature had felt like a triumph, not a shock, Stiles being the student of mythology that he was.

Stiles was now the most confident, most sexually content, not to mention most emotionally healthy he’d ever been, and he was very cool with all of that.


End file.
